


non-seance

by plumii



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Multi, This Is STUPID, kyouhaba are tagged but they don't get very far lmao, shirabu is tired, this is a prequel to a kawashira fic but no actual kawashira happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29027991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumii/pseuds/plumii
Summary: As always, it’s Futakuchi who messes up.Alternatively, Shirabu despises his roommates.
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, Minor or Background Relationship(s), next gen captains/stupidity
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	non-seance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [limeprint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/limeprint/gifts).



> FOR LIA. There was not enough kawashira so they made [this wonderful fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29010027)
> 
> I was gonna make something else my debut fic but it was just too good so I had to write this prequel.
> 
> THANK YOU for beta reading and screaming with me!

As always, it’s Futakuchi who messes up.

Kyoutani has actually left his self-imposed prison, this time, and seems content with eating actual real human food. It’s been a very, very long time since Kenjirou’s consumed anything in general, but he _was_ a med student and he’s quite sure that if Kyoutani kept up his frankly terrifying diet, he’d get scurvy. Or at the very least, constipation for days.

Anyway, so, Kyoutani’s in the kitchen, actually peeling an orange and meaning to eat it, and Yahaba is _also_ in the kitchen drinking his “coffee”— loosely named, since it’s probably ninety percent milk and seven percent sugar. It’s the first time they’ve been civil in each others’ presence in the past three days, and Kenjirou can _breathe_ now. He’s no longer being suffocated by sexual tension. 

True, he technically doesn’t need to breathe anymore, but he’s clearly retained some bodily functions from the good old days, like his mental acuity. He’ll be damned if his superior intellect preserved even beyond death gets drained by a couple oblivious bastards who won’t get over themselves and date already.

“Kentarou, take the leftovers in the fridge with you.” 

Kyoutani grunts, sucking orange pulp out of his fingernails. “Why? Then what’re you gonna have for lunch?”

“I’ve only got afternoon classes, and I’m the better cook between us.” Yahaba sounds so sickeningly fond that Kenjirou almost considers forgiving him (and by extension, Kyoutani) for the emotional distress they had put him through. He might even let Yahaba’s ego languish for a bit.

Yeah, who is he kidding. Yahaba’s ego deserves to burn in a trash fire. “Actually, _I’m_ the better cook between us. And I can’t even eat.”

Kyoutani looks simultaneously irked and relieved at Kenjirou’s interjection, because it’s given him a bit of time to process that Yahaba, possibly the most self involved person in the prefecture, has done something considerate. 

Yahaba just looks irked. “Shut up, Shirabu, go scare kids or whatever you do during the day.”

Kenjirou actually studies regularly and tidies the apartment during the day, but scaring kids sounds kind of fun, so he floats through the kitchen wall, looking for Terushima the vegan incubus.

It turns out that Terushima the vegan incubus just so happens to be walking down the hall with his laundry. He also runs incredibly hot, in that musclehead frat boy way(and probably in the demon way too), so he doesn’t notice Kenjirou’s cold until it’s far too late. 

“Whore.”

Terushima screams and drops armfuls of laundry all over the floor.

“Jesus Christ Almighty, you scared me,” he says, between pants. 

“I normally go by Shirabu, but that works too.”

Terushima collapses to the ground, all over his dirty underwear. Kenjirou wrinkles his nose a little, but he has to applaud the fact that the demon is actually washing his clothes. 

“How’s it going with that girl?”

“Ugh, why’d you have to remind me?” Terushima looks on the verge of tears. “Hana _still_ refuses to undo the curse. I’ve even offered to take her to McDonalds before we hook up! I can’t keep living off makeout sessions!”

Kenjirou tries to suppress a snicker. He fails miserably. “What were the odds that you’d end up scorning an honorary witch of one of the country’s most powerful covens. How long has it been?”

Terushima’s face is buried in his hands. “Two months.”

“Does your dick still work?”

“ _Please_ , Shirabu, leave me alone.” He’s well and truly crying now. Tragic. “I’m suffering enough as it is!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kenjirou waves a translucent hand. “If you ever get that reversed, you can ask Yahaba for some Viagra. I’m sure he has extra.” 

Terushima’s clothes are still scattered all over the hallway. Kenjirou, out of pity, decides to help him out a bit and tuck his yellow spongebob boxers out of sight under the rest of the mess. 

The little encounter puts Kenjirou in a great mood that miraculously persists until late afternoon. He’s just finished off a hefty Cell Biology textbook that he bullied Yahaba into checking out from the library when the doorknob clicks and voices filter in. Truly _awful_ voices, that should never be heard together. Kenjirou had never even considered this as a possibility, but the fact of the matter is that Kyoutani Kentarou is willingly talking to _Futakuchi Kenji_ , and Futakuchi has that look on his face that means he’s going to ruin someone’s life. 

Kenjirou normally wouldn’t mind since it’s not _his_ life being ruined, but maybe he sort of cares for Kyoutani in some capacity. Also, if he ends up going into one of his moods again, Kenjirou is going to respond in a violent way.

“A little louder, Kenny-chan?” 

Kyoutani’s rage is palpable. Kenjirou sympathizes. “I don’t even know why I bothered asking you. I just kinda needed some advice.”

“Aboooout?” 

“About—” Kyoutani’s voice drops. “Romance stuff, I guess.”

“Romance?” Futakuchi shrieks. It’s not quite Yahaba-when-he-finds-a-spider-in-the-shower loud, but it’s close. “You _like_ someone?”

“No I don’t!” His expression sours. “Hypothetically speaking, if a friend of mine liked someone, how would they go about letting that be known. I guess.”

It’s quite possibly the most un-hypothetical hypothetical situation Kenjirou has had the misfortune of hearing. 

“Well, it depends on the person, I guess. But typically, I think they like the hard-to-get ones. You know, like, mysterious!”

“Really?” Kyoutani looks doubtful. Good. No one should ever listen to Futakuchi under any circumstances. He is a fool who has set off the fire alarms thrice in one month and has taken the cursed elevator of Hell seventeen times. He doesn’t even live in their complex. 

“Yeah, it works on all the ladies!” Futakuchi gives Kyoutani a once-over. “ _And_ the guys!”

“Bastard.” Oh, how Kenjirou wishes he could slap Futakuchi across the head like Kyoutani just did. It sounds satisfying. “Anything else?”

“Man, you gotta let them come to you. Like, of course, don’t be mean and stuff, that only works in the dramas, but get too pushy and you might end up being more of a turn off than a turn on.”

Kenjirou facepalms in all his invisible glory under the table. It’s not actually bad advice, but Kyoutani has horrible taste and is in love with Contradictory Cocktail of Superiority Complex and Imposter Syndrome Extraordinaire. If he doesn’t chase Yahaba to the ends of the earth, absolutely nothing will happen and Kenjirou will be stuck in the middle of their not-quite-a-relationship limbo indefinitely. He’s weighing the pros and cons of just materializing and getting Kyoutani sorted out, but the last time he exposed himself for eavesdropping, Kyoutani complained to Yahaba who coerced Ennoshita into sealing him in the elevator. It’s not an experience he’d like to repeat. 

“You’ve gotta have more confidence, man,” Futakuchi’s saying. “You might growl a little more than the norm but I’m sure there’s a hefty chunk of people who’d consider you a catch.”

Maybe Futakuchi isn’t so bad at this, after all. Maybe Shirabu should reconsider his opinion of him.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. Futakuchi love guru has never failed as of yet. In fact, just yesterday I snagged Shige-chan a date!”

No.

No no no no _no._

Kenjirou never should’ve trusted Futakuchi with this. He’s never tried object manipulation from this far away, but the world could implode right this second and that’d be preferable to Kyoutani fully processing that statement. Before he can attempt it and maybe kill Futakuchi in the process, though, Kyoutani’s phone vibrates and he excuses himself to his room.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Kenjirou materializes. “You absolute _buffoon_.”

“What did I do?”

The shelf keeping all of Yahaba’s stupid looking stress balls is within arms’ reach. Futakuchi is at optimal throwing distance. “You were doing so good, why did you have to add that last bit?

“What last bit?!” Futakuchi cowers, dodging the flying purple llama. 

“Kyoutani is head over heels for Yahaba, you _insufferable idiot!_ ”

“What?” Futakuchi looks like he’s going through all five stages of grief. “Oh. _oh_.”

“Yeah, _oh_.” It may not be fair for Kenjirou to hold it over him when he didn’t know, but this is bad. Like, starting-the-next-cold-war-in-the-apartment bad, with Kenjirou playing Switzerland.

“Sorry?”

“Get out.” Kenjirou doesn’t manage to kick him, but it’s not for lack of trying.

Any hope that Kyoutani’s forgotten the whole “snagged Shige-chan a date” fiasco dissolves by the next morning.

He does make it to the breakfast table, but his dark circles look far worse for wear and his mouth is set in the upset scowl—as opposed to the default scowl and the woke-up-too-early scowl.

Yahaba, in contrast, looks like he ate a rainbow. He’s also being very nice, which Kenjirou hopes will manage to defuse the situation somehow. He went out grocery shopping and brought back Kyoutani’s favorite cereal(Capn Crunch, which he likes eating dry just to prove the invulnerability of the roof of his mouth) instead of his own(Frosted Flakes, because he thinks Tony the Tiger is hot). He’s not even cussing out the birds outside their window.

“Oh, and then Kenma and Akaashi were telling me about how they managed to sneak onto the plane free of charge! Technically, Bokuto could’ve taken them, but then their lives would be kind of dependent on his mood and that’s not the most reliable of things.”  
  


Kyoutani grunts.

“By the way, Kentarou, I may need to call for a raincheck on our movie night, I have to meet up with someone. Wait, they’re texting me, hold on.”

Kyoutani’s face sours. “Fine, whatever.”

“What’s going on with you? You look like someone’s pissed in your cereal.”

Kyoutani slams his bowl of Capn Crunch on the table with far more force than necessary. In fact, he slams it so hard it shatters to pieces.

“Leave me _alone_ , Shigeru!”

And off he goes, a tornado of ceramic and cereal in his wake. 

“What— I—” Yahaba sputters, “You know what? Whatever! He can throw his tantrums, see if I care!”

Kenjirou stares at the mess on the floor. He cannot do this anymore. He really, genuinely cannot do this anymore. 

“Clean up your goddamn cereal, you bastards! I’m so sick of this. Tennis ball looking headass and disgusting Severus Snape sympathizer, making messes everywhere and leaving _me_ to clean them up. Do you see that bowl? Do you _see it?!_ ” 

Yahaba shies away from his glare.

“Those fragments are what’s left of my mental state in this godforsaken household, I swear to everything that’s holy. I’m going to die _again_ if I have to put up with this for a minute longer. In fact, I’m going. I’m gone. Have a nice life, assholes!”

“What?”  
  


Even Kyoutani’s reemerged from his mancave. “What?”

“ _Bye_.”

* * *

  
  


“Akaashi!” Shigeru screeches into his phone, date forgotten. “Akaashi, we need a medium!”

Kenma startles from where he’s napping on the kitchen counter. 

“No, Akaashi, you don’t _understand_ , he’s gone! Poof! Disappeared! We can’t find him anywhere.”

Kentarou scowls over his laptop, scrolling through weird occult websites. He’s letting out a steady stream of curses, mostly directed at Shirabu, but Shigeru can tell by the wrinkle in his brow that he’s worried.

“Okay, yes, I may have said that, but that was in the past and what if he’s in danger? I didn’t think it was even possible for ghosts to leave their residences?”

A knock on the door has Shigeru leaping to his feet and swinging it open, revealing a very sheepish looking Futakuchi. Clutched in his right hand is a folded pamphlet.

“I kind of overheard Yahaba’s conversation. What if I told you I know a guy?”


End file.
